A Wolf In Sheep's Clothing?
by aliasfluffyone
Summary: The partners are separated. Joshua Smith runs into a bounty hunter who recognizes him. Is Heyes really going to be turned in this time? Trying for Amnesty Days c Spring 1885.
1. Caught

Disclaimer: Alias Smith and Jones does not belong to me. This is fan fiction, not for profit.

Any references to people, places, businesses, etc. are entirely fictitious.

A/N – story presumes the details on the wanted posters are not entirely accurate. Story exists in the same No Amnesty - Smith and Jones story verse as previous stories.

A Wolf In Sheep's Clothing?

-x-x-x-x-x-x-

"Phhtt!" sputtered Heyes.

Spitting dust, dried grass and pine needles, the dark haired former outlaw lifted his face up off the ground. Aching muscles, jolted by the sudden impact with the earth, protested at the movement. So did something else. Heyes froze. A low rumbling growl made the hairs on the Kansan's neck rise up in a primeval response to danger.

"Jezebel!" ordered an unfamiliar deep voice. "Down!"

The weight upon Heyes' back lifted. Small rocks skittered and bounced over the edge of the trail to his left, descending rapidly out of hearing range. Huge, thick gray paws padded around Heyes before the creature lowered itself, settling in front of the fallen man. Heyes found himself staring at a pair of dark wild eyes, mere inches from his own. The animal's mouth gaped open, panting, red tongue and yellowed fangs too close for comfort.

"You set your dog on me! You could have killed me if I had gone over the edge," accused Heyes as he started to push himself upwards and away from the menace. "Why?"

With a glance over his shoulder, Heyes could see the white stockinged feet of his skittish horse do a nervous back step towards the pinyon pine clinging along the rocky ledge. Reins that Heyes had been holding just moments ago now trailed through the dust, farther away from Heyes' reaching hand. His pinch front black hat lay on the ground. The silver conchos studding his hatband glinted in the late afternoon sunlight. Heavy footsteps clomped towards Heyes.

"Oh no you don't," objected the lumbering man.

A huge hand clutched Heyes by the collar. The genius tasted dirt again as his captor forced his body back down. The overpowering odor of stale sweat, tobacco and something reminiscent of a recent visit to the cordwainer's shop in Denver, made Heyes' eyes water. Strong hands grabbed first one slender wrist and then the other. Heyes' heart sank as he felt hard metal bite into his wrists.

"And now you're handcuffing me?" protested Heyes.

"Yep," agreed the brawny man as he tightened the clamps around Heyes' wrists. "Tha's right."

The man turned Heyes' body towards the right and removed his pistol. Heyes had a brief glimpse of his grizzled captor, before noting the crevice in the rocks. The source of his attack, a sheltered gap in the stone, barely big enough to conceal the man and his dog, appeared visible now that Heyes was right beside it.

"Jezebel and I been waiting for you," continued the older man.

"You can't just go waylaying people by the side of the road!" insisted Heyes.

"Ha," a deep bellowing laugh gurgled up from the man. "That's rich coming from the likes of you."

"What do you mean, from the likes of me?" asked Heyes dropping his voice.

The seeming coolness in his tone masked the undertone of worry in Heyes' voice. The big man yanked Heyes upright. The former outlaw's shrewd brown eyes focused level with his captor's Adam's apple protruding from between the collar of the man's red checkered shirt. The slim man tilted his neck back. A wary gaze travelled upwards past shoulder length lank graying hair to meet a pair of rheumy gray eyes staring back at him. The big man wore a dusty rounded black felt hat, curled up on the brim sheltering his pallid face from the harsh sun.

"Who are you?" demanded Heyes. "And why are you handcuffing me?"

"I'm a professional bounty hunter," informed the older man with a smile and a tone of pride, "Josiah Simmons."

Heyes blinked in surprise at the familiar phrase and the almost familiar name. Was there a training program for bounty hunters now? Heyes didn't like bounty hunters, professional or otherwise. The last professional bounty hunter Heyes had met was young, quick moving, and about the same height as himself. This aging mountain of a man was nothing like Joe Sims.

"Here in New Mexico, the rancher's association pays real well for bringing in skins of animals," explained the bounty hunter. "Coyote skins fetch a dollar each, wolf pelt brings in two dollars."

"As you can see," snapped Heyes indignantly, "I'm neither a coyote nor a wolf!"

"No, you're something much more profitable," grinned Simmons. "You're an outlaw! Just 'cause I fetch in pelts for the rancher's association don't mean I can't capture outlaws and bring 'em in to the law too."

"An outlaw?" snarled Heyes, his voice rising in anger, or perhaps fear. "I don't know who you think I am, but…"

Jezebel rose on her haunches. Arching her back, hair bristling upright, the huge dog let out a warning growl at Heyes' tone.

"You're Hannibal Heyes," interrupted the big man.

A massive hand scooped up Heyes' hat and thumped it down securely on the mastermind's head. Heyes blinked his eyes and tried to wiggle his eyebrows to loosen the tight fit. The glib former safe cracker didn't normally pull his hat all the way down over his forehead.

"You're mistaken," insisted Heyes smoothly, trying to fast talk his way out of this mess. "My name is Joshua Smith. I'm headed home to my wife and baby boy…"

Heyes awkwardly shifted his arms to the left, tapping his left hand with his right index finger. The plain wedding band gleamed on his finger. Clem had purchased the ring years ago for Kid to wear during their trip to Mexico, but the ring wouldn't go over his partner's knuckle. The ring fit Heyes' narrower finger. Heyes kept the ring and occasionally wore it, one more prop in his arsenal of alias wardrobes. He'd put the wedding band on three weeks ago when the partners split up for two separate delivery jobs. A flip of a coin sent Kid to Waltersboro, while Heyes went to Wildcat Junction.

"No, you're not," stated the bounty hunter firmly. "You're Hannibal Heyes!"

"What makes you think I'm Hannibal Heyes?" huffed Heyes in irritation.

"You fit the description on the wanted poster," answered Simmons.

"There must be lots of men that fit the description on that outlaw's wanted poster," contended Heyes.

"Most especially you," chuckled Simmons.

The bounty hunter turned Heyes to face his horse and gave the reformed bandit a little nudge.

"If I was Hannibal Heyes, don't you think I'd have Kid Curry and the rest of the Devil's Hole Gang with me?" argued the conniving former bandit. "You'd never catch Hannibal Heyes."

"I reckon if you was still with Kid Curry and the Devil's Hole Gang, you might be right," agreed the bounty hunter in an affable tone. "But ain't nobody heard of Hannibal Heyes and Kid Curry doing any robbin' for nigh on to five years."

"Huh?" Heyes narrowed his eyes as he began to calculate.

Had it really been that long? Governor Hoyt's one year provisional amnesty had stretched into two before the man departed office. Lom insisted the delay was due to false accusations against the partners, but Kid thought Hoyt had reneged because of what happened in Matherville.

"Five years?"

Lom continued to assure the partners that it was just a matter of time. " _Just stay out of trouble a little longer, until you can prove you deserve amnesty."_ Hoyt's replacement, Governor Hale agreed with the original deal, but stalled until he died without signing any pardon. Temporary Acting Governor Morgan was replaced before anyone even had a chance to talk to him about amnesty and now current Governor Warren considered it a new deal, and wanted them to prove they deserved amnesty. Again.

"Yep," crowed the bounty hunter. "Course the wanted poster ain't the only reason I know who ya are."

"What makes you so sure I'm Hannibal Heyes?" demanded Heyes in frustration.

"I rode as a deputy back in Wyoming," answered the bounty hunter. "Five years ago, I was in the posse that trailed after you, Curry and the rest of the Devil's Hole Gang."

Heyes tried to remember that long ago last train robbery. Somethings were unforgettable. Dynamite that wouldn't explode. A safe that wouldn't open. A life altering piece of paper. But there had been too many men shooting at the partner's over the years for Heyes to remember one face in a posse.

"Did you ever get close enough to actually see anyone's face?" asked Heyes. "Or were the outlaws just riders in the distance?

"We followed the marks of a safe being dragged across the ground," responded the bounty hunter, not really answering Heyes' question. "We got within firing range a couple different times."

Heyes swallowed. That was another thing he remembered vividly from that day. The posse had come awfully close with their gunshots. The echo of his partner's voice rang in his mind, _"there's one thing we gotta get..."_ Heyes' own question was nearly drowned out by the whiz of a bullet. Kid's answer, _"outta this business!"_ was the start of their quest for amnesty.

"I always thought the reason you fellas dropped out of sight was 'cause mebbe we killed one or both of you," continued the bounty hunter as he nudged Heyes closer to his horse. "Or mebbe you killed each other."

Heyes stumbled in shock at the man's words. Did people think that they were killers? The dog barked sharply and backed up a couple of steps. Heyes would have fallen to his knees, except for the quick action of his captor. Grabbing him from behind, the old bounty hunter steadied the slender schemer.

"Careful," reminded the big man. "That's a steep drop. I don't want to have to go after you and pick up what's left."

Heyes rolled his dark brown eyes. He didn't want the bounty hunter going to retrieve him after the long fall either. The silver tongue began to speak quickly.

"What makes you think Hannibal Heyes and Kid Curry would kill each other?" asked Heyes. "They were partners, and always known for not hurting anyone."

"First time for everything," answered Simmons. "However, since you're here, and there ain't been no word of Curry in years, I figure Kid Curry must be dead. Lucky me."

"Lucky?" echoed Heyes in a questioning tone.

"Yeah," nodded the bounty hunter. "Curry was always the dangerous one, I wouldn't have even tried to capture him."

"Not that I'm Hannibal Heyes," warned Heyes, "but you might be wrong about who was the dangerous one."

"Hah!" snorted Simmons. "Look at you, you puny little thing! You let me and Jezebel get the drop on you. Gotcha handcuffed without any fuss. You always was the planner, the schemer. Curry was the threat."

Heyes started to object, the echo of Joe Sim's soft laugher _"even Hannibal Heyes and Kid Curry can have an off day"_ ringing in his ears, but the big man blustered on.

"What made the Devil's Hole Gang different was Kid Curry and his gun!" continued Simmons.

"The Devil's Hole Gang was different because they never shot anyone!" objected Heyes.

"Still just a pack of thieves," responded the bounty hunter with a harsh laugh. "Just happened to be better at it than most."

Simmons prodded Heyes forward. The two men stepped closer to the side of Heyes' horse. The wild eyed equine back stepped once more. With a low mutter, the bounty hunter reached for the reins. The big man began a continuous stream of low murmurs to accompany a gentle rhythmic stroke. Slowly, the frightened animal stilled. The man beckoned Heyes closer.

"Really? You can't expect me to ride with my hands cuffed behind me?" objected Heyes.

"Ride or walk, don't make no never mind to me," replied the grizzled man. With a glance at Heyes polished, narrow toed black boots, he added, "Might make a difference to you though."

The bounty hunter beckoned again. At the prompt Heyes placed his foot in the stirrup. Simmons boosted Heyes up into the saddle with a loud huffing exhalation.

"Now try to stay on your horse," ordered Simmons.

The big man tugged on the reins and gave a low whistle to the shaggy gray dog. Heyes found himself in an odd processional. The bounty hunter plodded forward. In the middle, Heyes balanced upon the broad back of his chestnut mare. White stockinged hooves stepped daintily across the dusty trail. The gray canine brought up the rear. Jezebel snuffled in zig-zag searching motion from one side of the trail to the other.

"You've got the wrong man! I'm not an outlaw," grumbled Heyes in frustration. "And whoever heard of a bounty hunter capturing an outlaw on foot? What kind of bounty hunter does that?"

"The kind that rode ahead of you and set up camp already," answered the big, burly bounty hunter with a deep throated chuckle. "We'll ride down to Hopewell in the morning. I'll turn you into the sheriff there. Ten thousand dollars will keep me and Jezebel in biscuits and beans for a good long while."

Heyes gulped. The partners were to meet up in Hopewell. Being captured by a bounty hunter was trouble enough. Leading that bounty hunter to his partner was worse trouble.

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	2. Dangerous?

Disclaimer: Alias Smith and Jones does not belong to me. This is fan fiction, not for profit.

Any references to people, places, businesses, etc. are entirely fictitious.

A/N – story presumes the details on the wanted posters are not entirely accurate. Story exists in the same No Amnesty - Smith and Jones story verse as previous stories.

Dangerous?

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"You've got the wrong man!" insisted Heyes. "My name is Joshua Smith!"

Heyes kept up a stream of constant chatter as Simmons plodded up the trail leading his chestnut. The lithe man rolled his shoulders, stretching tight muscles and wishing for a lock pick in his back pocket.

"You're gonna feel mighty foolish when we get to Hopewell! The sheriff will telegraph my wife, she'll come identify me, and I'll be released," prodded Heyes. "Oughta save yourself some embarrassment and release me now."

"More likely Sheriff Ridgely will telegraph Cheyenne for some Wyoming lawman to come identify you," objected Simmons. "Wouldn't take the word of some poor woman you've bamboozled."

Ridgely. Heyes smiled in relief at the name. He didn't know any lawman named Ridgely. Then the rest of Simmons' comment registered.

"Bamboozled!" exclaimed Heyes indignantly. "I never…"

The memory of Grace Turner, Amy Martin, and so many other woman that he had misled gave him pause. About the only time Kid ever lied to a woman was when he used an alias. Heyes knew if Curry continued talking with a woman for any length of time his partner was bound to inadvertently reveal the truth behind Thaddeus Jones. A nun, a singer from New Orleans and a tall blonde Texan had all figured out Kid's true identity soon enough. Other women, like Clem, Georgette and Jenny, knew them both. Of those three women, only one had never been deluded by Heyes' fast talk. Clem always saw through Heyes.

"I've heard the real Hannibal Heyes was a gentleman!" finished Heyes.

"A gentleman bandit is still a bandit!" huffed Simmons.

Heyes rocked in the saddle as the bounty hunter continued up the trail. Nimble fingers felt the clamps around his wrists. The cuffs were solid iron, forged into a flattened half circle, with a flat shank fastening them. Three links of chain separated the cuffs. The fastenings were secure, but not cruelly tight like some Heyes had experienced.

"I'm not Hannibal Heyes," resumed Heyes. "You know, most people think both those outlaws ran off to Mexico, or maybe South America, or even Australia!"

The steady thump of Simmons heavy footfalls was accompanied by the sound of hooves. The shaggy gray dog bounded ahead of horse and both men, snapping at a tiny pale yellow butterfly that fluttered just out of reach.

"What about Canada?" responded the bounty hunter.

"Or Canada, yeah," agreed Heyes eagerly. Speaking fast, the dark haired man added, "You know one of the dime novels about Heyes and Curry had them joining with the North-West Mounted Police…"

The grizzled man snorted with laughter. He stopped and looked upwards at Heyes as the schemer rocked precariously on his saddle, slightly off balance.

"Don't you ever stop talking?" asked Simmons.

Heyes smirked. For a moment there, the bounty hunter almost sounded like Kid. The lumbering man turned his back on Heyes and tugged the reins, pulling the chestnut forward once more.

"Only when I sleep," murmured Heyes. Lowering his voice even further, he added, "And sometimes not even then."

The sun was low on the horizon when Jezebel disappeared around a bend in the trail. As Simmons led the chestnut around the outcropping of pines, Heyes caught his first glimpse of Simmons' camp. The same stale scent of leather found in the cordwainer's shop in Denver wafted towards Heyes. A travois packed high with animal skins leaned against a fallen log. Beyond the log, an old, sway backed sorrel horse grazed peacefully beside a stout mule. Rocks piled haphazardly in a circle outlined the vestiges of an old campfire.

"We'll stay here tonight," informed Simmons, "and start for Hopewell at first light. We should be there by mid-afternoon."

The bounty hunter tethered the chestnut, then reached to help Heyes down. The normally graceful former outlaw swung his leg over the girth of his horse. Heyes nearly clipped the older man in the jaw with the heel of his boot.

"Watch it," cautioned Simmons. "Jezebel won't take it kindly iffen you kick me."

"I wasn't trying to kick you!" protested Heyes. "With my arms behind me…"

The last step was more of a fall than dismounting. Heyes landed hard, expelling a breath of air as he hit the ground.

"Ooomph!"

The burly bounty hunter lifted Heyes up. Guiding him by the elbow, Simmons led Heyes closer to the nearby conifers. A long link of chain surrounded one tree and ended in another set of clamps.

"More chains!" exclaimed Heyes. "Is that a horse's hobble?"

"Started out as a hobble," nodded Simmons, "but I added the extry chain and locks."

Large, meaty hands clamped the hobbles around Heyes' calves. Bolts tightened and locks joined the end screws to the chain. Rheumy gray eyes appraised the fit of the metal clamps.

"Hmm, you're skinny," groused Simmons. "Maybe I should use the handcuffs."

"I'm not that skinny," objected Heyes, "besides, in case you've forgotten, the handcuffs are already in use."

"Ain't forgot," answered Simmons. "Was plannin' on taking the handcuffs off now that we're settled."

Heyes' dark brown eyes brightened. The old man reached behind Heyes and undid the handcuffs. A sigh of relief escaped Heyes' lips. He brought his hands forward, in a crisscross motion over his chest, rubbing his aching muscles.

"Don't even think about trying to escape," ordered the old bounty hunter.

Simmons stood up and whistled for the dog. The ferocious looking, butterfly chasing mongrel came running. Jezebel stopped in front of Simmons. The big man pointed at Heyes. Jezebel fastened her gleaming eyes on the former outlaw.

"Jezebel's watching you," admonished Simmons. With another glance at the large gray dog, he added, "Stay!"

Heyes continued rubbing his sore muscles while Simmons unsaddled the chestnut. The barrel chested man ensured both horses and mule were fed and watered. Then Simmons turned to the circle of stones. In a matter of minutes he had a fire going and began pulling out the contents of his saddle bags as he started supper.

"Nice doggie," murmured Heyes in a soft voice.

Jezebel was now laying down. Her furry jaw rested upon her thick gray paws, and her eyes lazily watched Heyes. Slender fingers surreptitiously slid into his left boot. Withdrawing a long, narrow pointed piece of metal, Heyes began to pick the first lock linking the chain with the hobbles.

"Do you like coffee?" called Simmons.

Heyes jerked his eyes up from the second lock he was attempting to finagle. The bounty hunter had a frying pan in the fire. The mouthwatering scent of bacon drifted on the breeze. Simmons held a battered tin coffee pot.

"I'm gonna make some for me," explained the bounty hunter, "will make enough for you too, iffen you want. Otherwise I'll just bring back the canteen with water."

"I love coffee," answered Heyes with a disarming smile.

The reformed bandit watched Simmons trudge down the slope towards the burbling sound of the spring. One more twist of the metal pick and the lock sprang open. Heyes stood up. Jezebel blinked her eyes.

"Stay!" hissed Heyes.

Heyes backed away from the huge canine, intent on moving to his horse. The dog continued to watch. Heyes stepped out from beneath the towering evergreen. Jezebel pounced.

"Phhtt!"

Spitting dirt and pine needles, the dark haired former outlaw lifted his face up off the ground again. The weight upon his back prevented him from moving any further. Hoarse laughter echoed across the dusky camp.

"I tol' ya to stay," reminded Simmons.

"Me!" spluttered Heyes indignantly. "I thought you were talking to the dog!"

The animal in question gave a low rumbling growl. Simmons set the coffee pot on the fire and removed the frying pan before he clomped across the camp site to where Heyes lay pinned beneath Jezebel.

"Now what am I gonna do with you?" muttered the bounty hunter.

"You could let me go," suggested Heyes. "I keep tellin' you, I'm not Hannibal Heyes. My name is Joshua Smith…"

"And you just happen to know how to pick a lock?" interrupted Simmons.

"I'm a trained locksmith," responded Heyes. It wasn't exactly a lie. During his time in the Nebraska penitentiary Old Jose had taught him to fix locks as well as pick them and how to open a safe. "Now will you get this animal off my back and let me go?"

"Can't do that Heyes," replied Simmons. "And I can't let you try escaping again neither, but I got an idea that will at least let me and Jezebel get a good night's sleep tonight."

Simmons snapped his fingers and the huge dog moved to one side. Heyes sat up rubbing his jaw.

"Take off your boots," ordered the bounty hunter.

Heyes grumbled but pulled off first one pointed black boot, then the other.

"Now what?"

"Toss 'em over there," directed Simmons.

The mastermind threw his boots over beside his saddle. At a gesture from Simmons, Heyes moved back towards the chains and hobbles.

"Not so fast there," cautioned Simmons. "Hannibal Heyes is known for never being kept in a jail. Without boots you ain't gonna walk too far, but since I don't know where you might keep a lock pick, I'm gonna have to ask you to strip."

"Strip?" squawked Heyes.

"Just down to your undergarments," answered Simmons. The bushy gray eyebrows drew together as the older man frowned. "You wouldn't hide anything…"

"No," interrupted Heyes. "I wouldn't hide a lock pick or anything else in my undergarments, because I'm not Hannibal Heyes!"

Heyes continued to grumble as he stripped off his tan pants, brown vest and black shirt. Dressed in nothing but his white longjohns, he watched as Simmons refastened the hobbles tightly around his calves.

"Trying to escape is something Hannibal Heyes would try," muttered Simmons.

"Trying to escape is something anyone would try," argued Heyes.

Gray eyes looked directly at Heyes. The bounty hunter narrowed his eyes as he regarded Heyes.

"I reckon you might be right," agreed the man finally, "but Hannibal Heyes is known for breaking his partner and other members of the Devil's Hole Gang outta jail."

"Just because I know how to pick a lock doesn't make me an outlaw!"

Simmons made a pile of his clothing, then snapped his fingers. The shaggy dog settled on top of Heyes' clothes and resumed watch. The big man returned to the fire. Kneeling beside Heyes' boots and saddlebag, Simmons checked on the coffee pot.

"There is hardtack, bacon and coffee," stated the grizzled man. "Do you want to eat or keep on yammering on all night?"

"I'm hungry, cold and chained up," snapped Heyes. "What I want is to be released, get my clothes back on and get my own food!"

"Tol' ya," responded Simmons, "I'm takin' ya in for the reward. I'll feed ya, and give you a blanket for the night. You can have your clothes back in the morning, but I'm taking you in to Hopewell."

Heyes fumed in silence. Even if he somehow managed to get out of the chains, he couldn't go far barefoot and only wearing longjohns. Simmons returned a few minutes later and handed him a tin plate and a coffee cup before returning to the campfire. Crisp bacon tasted good and drippings made the hardtack somewhat palatable. Hot coffee washed it all down.

"That's a dangerous dog you got there," grumbled Heyes.

Simmons reached a big hand over towards Jezebel. The huge dog rolled over on her back, exposing her tummy. The bounty hunter smiled as he rubbed the dog's belly.

"Jezebel ain't really dangerous," stated BH. "People just think that because she's so big and fast."

"Coulda fooled me," grumped Heyes. "She's unnaturally quiet for a dog. The way she acts and looks, you'd think she's part wolf!"

"You're not the first person to say that," murmured Simmons.

Gentle fingers brushed through the dog's thick gray fur. Heyes caught a glimpse of a hairless white scar on the dog's flank.

"Once when she was nothing but a yappy pup, someone took a shot at her," explained the burly man. "Don't know why anyone would think a pup is dangerous."

Kid had his share of scars too. In the light of the blazing campfire, Heyes remembered Grampa Curry talking to his parents after the raiders killed Jed's family. The men had shot the boy, leaving Jed for dead. _"Jed wasn't dangerous! They coulda disarmed him easily enough, a pitchfork ain't really a weapon, but those men shot him anyway!"_ Jedidiah Curry had been a talkative little boy, full of questions and curiosity. After the death of his parents and sisters, Jed had talked less and watched more, always alert for danger.

"Someone made a mistake," sympathized the silver tongued wonder. "Just like you did when you captured me, I'm not a dangerous outlaw. I'm not Hannibal Heyes!"

Simmons raised his head and looked at Heyes.

"Now Heyes," chided the big man, "we both know who you are."

"You said yourself you thought they were both dead," reminded Heyes, trying to keep the desperation out of his voice. "That nobody heard of Hannibal Heyes and Kid Curry robbing during the last five years."

"That was before," answered Simmons. The big hand rubbed the graying stubble on his chin before the bounty hunter gestured towards Heyes. "Seeing is believing."

"There's been no train robberies attributed to Heyes and Curry since you rode with that posse in Wyoming," continued Heyes, "and the only bank robberies they have been blamed for in the past five years turned out to be done by the bankers themselves."

"Yeah, I remember hearing a couple stories like that," agreed Simmons. "One in Kingsburg, the other one real close by…"

"It wasn't them! The banker in Kingsburg, a fella named Binford, finally confessed," informed Heyes. "The other banker named Blake was killed, but a witness testified that he hired two men to impersonate Heyes and Curry!"

"Uh huh," yawned Simmons.

"Heyes and Curry have most likely fled the country," concluded Heyes. "And the Devil's Hole Gang hasn't been heard of since that robbery either, except for one attempted train robbery over near Brimstone."

The bounty hunter yawned once more and stretched his arms overhead. Reaching for Heyes' bedroll, Simmons stood up and brought it over to his captive.

"I'm not worried about any of them dangerous fellas," responded Simmons. "Turning in one scheming planner is all I need to have Jezebel and me sitting pretty for a long time."

Heyes looked up at his captor in surprise. While many feared Kid's gun, people that really knew them recognized his partner's gentle nature. Others, like Harry Wagoner, knew that Heyes' quiet reserve held dark depths. Heyes passed the bounty hunter his empty plate and cup in exchange for the blankets.

"Personally, I'd be more worried about Heyes," countered Heyes. "I think he was the dangerous one."

"Hah!" snorted Simmons as he settled on his own blankets near the fire. "Kid Curry was the fastest gunnie in the West! You ain't dangerous at all!"

"I keep telling you I'm not Hannibal Heyes," snapped Heyes. "Why don't you believe me?"

"For someone who is not Hannibal Heyes," chuckled the huge bounty hunter as rolled over and snuggled into his blanket, "you sure know an awful lot about him."

For a moment, Heyes held silent, thinking he might have overplayed this hand. Heyes calculated the odds and determined to raise the stakes in this verbal battle one more time. After all, he had an ace in the hole. Playing against the man's fears, Heyes decided to bluff.

"You better hope you're wrong Simmons," snarled Heyes.

"Why's that?" yawned Simmons.

"I'm meeting my partner in Hopewell," growled Heyes. He rolled up in his own blankets, secure in the knowledge that Kid wasn't due in Hopewell for another three days. If his plan worked, the bounty hunter should be long gone before Kid arrived. "You better hope I'm not Hannibal Heyes, because if I am, that makes my partner Kid Curry."

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	3. Howl

Disclaimer: Alias Smith and Jones does not belong to me. This is fan fiction, not for profit.

Any references to people, places, businesses, etc. are entirely fictitious.

A/N – story presumes the details on the wanted posters are not entirely accurate. Story exists in the same No Amnesty - Smith and Jones story verse as previous stories.

Howl

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Faint rays of light tinged the eastern sky with a rosy hue. Heyes heard the heavy footsteps of his captor padding towards him. He closed his eyes again, feigning sleep. A meaty hand pawed his shoulder.

"Wake up Heyes," ordered Simmons.

"Smith," corrected Heyes. He rolled over on his back and looked up at the huge, gray haired man. "I keep tellin' you my name is Joshua Smith."

"Are you playin' the innocent again?" snapped Simmons. Bloodshot gray eyes stared back at Heyes. "We both know what you really are, you ain't no honest locksmith named Joshua Smith!"

Heyes' lips drew back in a wide grin, bright white teeth showing as the dimples deepened. The first part of his plan appeared to have been a success. He had heard Simmons muttering, tossing and turning during the night.

"Did you sleep well?" asked Heyes in a disarming manner.

The soft words and bright smile exuded charm, but the glint in his dark brown eyes might give some men pause.

"Hmmph, well enough," grumbled Simmons. "Here."

Big hands thrust Heyes' shirt and vest towards the startled schemer.

"What?" questioned Heyes.

Heyes struggled upright into a sitting position. The older man pushed himself away and clomped back towards the campfire.

"Put 'em on Heyes," directed the grizzled man.

Heyes shook out the wrinkled shirt sending curly gray strands of dog hair fluttering.

"What about my pants and boots?" demanded Heyes as he shrugged into his black shirt. "You can't expect me to ride a horse in nothing but my longjohns! I'll get saddle sores!"

Simmons winced as he looked over his shoulder at Heyes. The gruff man picked up the coffee pot from the coals of the dying campfire.

"I wouldn't do that to my worst enemy," responded the burly trapper. "You'll get your pants and boots after I've cuffed your hands."

"Having my hands cuffed behind me is gonna make it a little hard for me to finish dressing," objected Heyes. Nimble fingers buttoned up his shirt and reached for his vest. "And I don't want your help pulling up my britches!"

"Iffen you ain't learned how to pull on your pants by now, I ain't gonna help you," retorted the big man.

Simmons poured a cup and then set the pot back down. The big hand clawed open the sack containing the hardtack. Clutching the foodstuffs tightly, he stood up.

"We'll both be riding today, so you'll have your hands cuffed in front," continued the bounty hunter as he returned to Heyes. "It's safer. I ain't gonna have you fallin' and breaking your fool neck!"

Yesterday, the dark haired genius found it hard to keep his balance in the saddle while Simmons walked his chestnut. Today they would be travelling at a faster pace. Heyes remembered Kid complaining about the dangers of riding with his hands tied behind him. While Heyes knew the reward was payable dead or alive, he appreciated the fact that his captor seemed to be inclined to take him in alive.

"That makes two of us, I don't want to fall off my horse either," agreed Heyes.

However, Heyes didn't accept the proffered breakfast. He pointed a slender hand towards the adjacent tree. His upturned hat lay, barely visible, on the shadowed earth where it had fallen yesterday.

"And I want my hat," demanded Heyes.

"Hands first," countered Simmons settling the coffee cup and food on a nearby rock. "Then you get the rest of your clothes."

Heyes wriggled into his pants and then pulled on his boots. Across the campsite, the muscular old man cinched Heyes' saddle tight, then moved towards his own horse. Heyes picked up the battered hat. The chain running from the handcuffs to circle the tree rattled as he stood up. The former outlaw placed the hat upon his head, tilting the brim upwards to give himself a clear view of the campsite. He found Simmons watching him.

"Don't get any ideas about escaping," remonstrated Simmons. Yellowed teeth flashed as the bounty hunter smiled. "Had this rifle with me when I rode with the posse in Wyoming. You might remember, the Sharps has a long range."

Tiny hairs on the back of Heyes' neck prickled as he eyed the heavy Buffalo rifle leaning against the travois. It was the first time since the bounty hunter had removed Heyes' pistol yesterday, that he had seen the big man armed. Heyes remembered. The posse was within firing range several times that day, mostly men with pistols but there were loud, booming rifle shots too. Later that evening, after the botched robbery, while the partners talked about amnesty and what it might mean for them, Kid fingered the black bullet crease mark on the collar of his jacket. Had Simmons been the one to put it there?

"I'm not thinking about escaping," dissembled Heyes. "The sooner we get to Hopewell, the sooner we can get this all cleared up."

The slim Kansan reached for the scant repast Simmons had left for him. Heyes dunked a brittle piece of hardtack in the reheated coffee before taking a bite.

"Not that I'm getting any ideas, but where's your dog?" asked Heyes after a moment.

"Chasing squirrels," huffed Simmons as he swung his heavy saddle over the back of the gaunt sorrel. "Or mebbe chipmunks."

"Does she have any better luck at catching squirrels and chipmunks than butterflies?" asked Heyes.

"Yep," snorted the bounty hunter. "Jezebel don't eat butterflies."

Heyes coughed sharply as the last bite of hardtack went down the wrong way. The bounty hunter tied the travois behind the mule. Satisfied with his work, Simmons then took the empty cup from Heyes' hands and stuffed it into his own saddlebag. Jezebel bounded into the camp. The huge dog's mouth gaped open. She panted, her fangs glistened in the early morning light.

"Let's get you mounted," urged Simmons. "You lead out nice and slow now, I'll be watching you."

"Just keep your hand off that trigger," warned Heyes. "I don't want you shooting me by accident."

Heyes' back muscles twitched as the chestnut led the way to Hopewell. Simmons followed on his sorrel, carrying the Sharps across his lap and leading the laden mule hauling his collection of animal skins. Jezebel zig-zagged in between the riders.

"Heyes, which is it?" called Simmons in a mocking tone. "Is Joshua Smith going home to his wife and baby boy? Or is Hannibal Heyes going to meet his partner?"

Heyes smiled broadly, without turning to face his captor. The bounty hunter was worried or he wouldn't be asking.

"The first thing I want to do when we get to Hopewell is send a telegram to my wife," responded Heyes. "Then go to the hotel to meet my partner."

"Quit lying Heyes!" snarled Simmons. "You ain't got no partner!"

Heyes gripped the pommel with both hands to steady himself as he turned to look over his shoulder. He smiled again, teeth gleaming.

"My name is Smith," huffed Heyes in what appeared to be righteous indignation. "And my partner's name is Thaddeus Jones."

"Smith and Jones?" Simmons roared with laughter. "The great schemer Hannibal Heyes couldn't come up with anything better than Smith and Jones?"

"I keep telling you I'm not Hannibal Heyes," retorted Heyes.

"Sure you are Heyes," laughed Simmons derisively. "And when we get to Hopewell, I'm taking you to the Sheriff's Office!"

"I'm really looking forward to meeting Sheriff Ridgely," bluffed Heyes. He deliberately turned his back on Simmons and faced the trail, before adding, "So I can report you for kidnapping!"

-x-x-x-x-x-x-

The sun was high overhead as the small town came within sight. Heyes planned to telegraph Clem. He knew he could count on her to be on the first stage from nearby Albuquerque to identify him as Joshua Smith. It shouldn't be too hard to get the pretend _Mrs. Smith_ to mention the Hale name, with a sigh intimating a relationship with the dear departed governor. The timing of his plan was a little tight, but Heyes was confident that he would be released before Kid arrived, and maybe even have Simmons in jail too.

"Jezebel," called the bounty hunter.

The panting huge gray dog took the lead. Jezebel headed towards the nearest watering trough. As they neared the town, Heyes' alert eyes noticed little details. A man dressed in a white shirt, narrow red suspenders holding up tight high-waisted black pants, and a bowler hat, swept the porch in front of the mercantile. A rifle leaned near the door.

"That merchant sure looks like a city slicker," murmured Heyes, shaking his head in wry amusement at the hat. "A real tenderfoot."

The sign identifying the Sheriff's Office swung in the breeze three buildings further down. Boys exited the livery at the end of the street. They shouted and laughed as they ran down the dirt road, striking sticks against wooden hoops. Heyes grinned at the familiar game. As a small boy in Kansas, Jedidiah Curry had been the champion hoop roller of the schoolyard. Heyes' smile disappeared as another figure loped out of the livery.

"What are you doing here?" gasped Heyes.

Heyes' mouth dropped open as he recognized his partner. The muscular blond adult chased behind the boys rolling yet another hoop. Long legs raced to catch up to the boys. His stomach clenched in a knot as he realized Kid's early arrival in Hopewell endangered both his plan, and more importantly, his partner.

"Hey!" bayed an unknown voice in alarm.

Heyes' eyes returned to the man at the mercantile. The broom lay abandoned on the porch floor. The merchant reached for the rifle.

"A wolf!" shouted the man in the bowler hat.

Jezebel trotted straight towards the watering trough in front of the mercantile. The man raised his gun and took aim. The boys, and Kid, raced closer. Did the man see the children? See Kid? From behind Heyes, a voice cried out.

"Don't shoot my dog!" howled Simmons.

Heyes watched as everything seemed to move in slow motion. Hoops fell to the ground as the boys stopped running. The man on the porch seemed oblivious to anything but Jezebel. Belatedly, Heyes realized he was directly in line behind the dog. The man cocked the hammer.

"No!"

Kid pounced on the merchant. The gun went off as the man with bowler hat hit the dusty porch floor. Heyes had a moment's glimpse of Jezebel dunking her head gratefully in the trough before his chestnut reared in fright.

"Augh!"

-x-x-x-x-x-x-

A wet slurpy tongue licked Heyes' face. Brown eyes blinked open to find himself face to snout with Jezebel. In the distance he could hear voices arguing.

"What did ya stop me for?" yelped the merchant. "I was trying to shoot that wolf!"

"That ain't no wolf," snapped Kid. "A wolf don't run with two men, two horses and a mule!"

"Looks like a wolf!"

"Looked to me like you were gonna shoot my partner," growled Kid, "or the man riding with him."

A splash sounded, followed by a thud, then another thud and then a yelp or maybe it was more of a whimper.

"Ooh," groaned Heyes as he tried to sit up.

A big, meaty hand reached for him. Simmons pulled Heyes to sit upright and then abruptly released him. Brown eyes blinked as the strategist assessed the changed situation. His skittish chestnut was nowhere to be seen. Behind the bounty hunter, Simmons' sorrel and the mule waited placidly. The buffalo rifle lay forsaken in the dusty road. Simmons stroked Jezebel, feeling the shaggy gray dog for signs of hurt. Satisfied the animal was unharmed, the bounty hunter glanced towards the mercantile, and then turned back to face Heyes.

"I reckon that's your partner," deduced Simmons.

Heyes wobbled, feigned grogginess and appeared unable to steady himself with his hands cuffed together. Simmons picked up Heyes' black hat lying in the middle of the dusty street and handed it to him.

"What was all that noise?" asked Heyes.

"Your partner threw the other man's rifle in the watering trough," chuckled Simmons. "The other noises you heard were his fist connecting with that wanna be wolf killer's jaw, and then that fool's head hitting the wall."

Soft footfalls sounded. Heyes blinked his eyes again and looked up to see Kid striding towards him. His partner padded past the water trough as Simmons grasped his rifle. Simmons' sorrel horse plodded towards the watering trough, followed by the mule.

"Joshua?" called Kid in a worried tone. "Are you all right?"

Two more long legged steps and Kid was beside him. Curry started to kneel, but then stopped. The curly haired blond tilted his head to one side. Blue eyes narrowed as Kid noted the handcuffs. The gaze hardened. Steely eyes turned towards the man beside Heyes. Kid's stance changed subtly. Facing Simmons, Curry stood tall and stiff legged, his right hand hovering near his hip. The bounty hunter's already pallid face drained of the last vestiges of color as he clearly recognized the shootist.

"Mr. Simmons here," began Heyes, "is under the mistaken impression that I'm…"

Bounding footsteps drowned out Heyes' voice as other people started to approach and crowd around. He surreptitiously tilted his black hat to hide cuffs on his wrists. Heyes glanced at the new arrivals. Curious boys, men, women and girls from the nearby shops.

"What's going on here?" demanded a late arrival.

People parted to make way for the owner of the loud voice. Simmons clasped Heyes by his forearms and hauled him upright. Kid still hadn't moved, although Heyes knew with all the women and children around there was no chance of a fast draw. They were trapped. Jezebel backed up, cowering behind Kid.

"Sheriff Ridgely don't allow no shootin'," continued the brash baritone. "Just 'cause he ain't here today, don't mean folks can start shootin' up the town."

"Then you oughta tell that to the man over at the mercantile," snapped Kid as the loudmouth stepped past a stout, gray haired woman.

A bright shining star on the newcomer's chest identified the dark haired man as a lawman. Heyes and Kid exchanged a worried glance as they recognized the plump, slow moving deputy. Ten years ago, the once tall, rangy man rode with the Devil's Hole Gang. Jasper's jaw dropped open, his shoulders drooped in dismay.

"Ain't nobody hurt Deputy Lowell," declared the stout gray haired woman. With a shooing motion, the woman turned to the surrounding townsfolk. "Don't you worry, I'll tend to Wilbur! I think licorice sticks are in order for all of you boys. Shame on Wilbur for interrupting your game…"

As quickly as the crowd had gathered, the people dispersed, talking and chattering amongst themselves, leaving the partners with Simmons and Jasper.

"What's going on here?" whispered Jasper. Dark eyes darted nervously from Kid to Heyes to the glint of metal peeking out beneath Heyes' hat to Simmons. "Why do you have cuffs on him?"

Kid bristled at Jasper's question, while Heyes rolled his eyes in annoyance. Now was not the time for Jasper to start. The tension between Kid and Simmons was palpable. Jezebel whined. Kid's left hand dropped to the big gray dog's head. Without ever taking his eyes off Simmons, Kid stroked the frightened animal.

"Mr. Simmons here…," began Heyes,

"I made a mistake," interrupted Simmons.

"What?"

Three men stared at the bounty hunter. Simmons rested the butt of his Sharps beside his boot. The bounty hunter glanced towards Jezebel for a moment. When he raised his gray eyes, the huge man addressed Kid.

"Once I was in a posse that chased after Hannibal Heyes, Kid Curry and the Devil's Hole Gang," explained Simmons. "I thought Mr. Smith was Hannibal Heyes."

"There are a lotta men that fit that outlaw's description," breathed Kid in a soft tone.

Kid's every syllable exuded quiet menace. Simmons stood firm. Jezebel whined softly, while Jasper seemed to shrink lower in his boots.

"I took your partner into custody," continued Simmons. "Figured I'd get myself a real big reward."

"My partner is Joshua Smith," stated Kid with utter conviction.

Kid's hard blue eyed gaze never wavered from Simmons face. The big man's steel gray eyes faced Kid without flinching.

"Your partner always said he wasn't Hannibal Heyes," conceded Simmons. "But I sure didn't believe him when he said his name was Smith and his partner's name was Jones."

"Well I reckon I can see why you might find those names hard to believe," Jasper guffawed. With a furtive look around, he continued, "A real outlaw like Heyes would probably use something more inventive, like Terwilliger or Rembacker or…"

"Or maybe Jasper," snapped Heyes.

Heyes' dark brown eyes flashed dangerously. Jasper gulped and quit talking. He ran a plump finger along his collar. Simmons reached into his pocket and pulled out a ratchet key.

"Mr. Smith, I do apologize," continued the grizzled man. "You sure seemed to fit the description of Hannibal Heyes to a tee! But I shoulda known when Jezebel took to ya that you couldn't be Hannibal Heyes. Jezebel don't like bad men."

The bounty hunter began unlocking the restraints. Simmons looked towards Kid once more. Teeth flashed as the two men smiled at each other.

"And Mr. Jones, thank you," added Simmons. "Thank you, for saving my dog."

-x-x-x-x-x-x-

"One thing you gotta admit Heyes," called Kid as they rode westwards out of town a few minutes later. "Jasper always was good at taking care of himself."

Heyes glanced at his partner. Kid's big black gelding was keeping pace with the strong dark bay that Jasper had insisted he take. _"Sooner you two are gone the better," fussed Jasper as the partners saddled up. "I ain't looking forward to telling Lewiston you two was here." "Lewiston?" asked Heyes remembering a dependable blond outlaw from years before. "Yeah," hissed Jasper. "He's Sheriff Lewis Ridgely now."_

"I take care of us too!" exclaimed Heyes.

"Like today?" smirked Kid. "What would you have done if I hadn't been there?"

The partners slowed their horses. Nudging the equines across the rocky decline, the former outlaws splashed into a shallow southward flowing stream. If Jasper or Simmons decided to change their minds about letting them go, they would have to find the partners first.

"Kid, you arrived in Hopewell early," complained Heyes as they walked the horses beneath the cottonwoods. "You messed up my plan!"

"Plan?" laughed Kid. "You had a plan? What plan?"

Heyes began to elaborate on his grandiose scheme. Embellishing the details, he continued talking until they reached the fork in the stream.

"I gotta say Heyes," smirked Kid as he guided his gelding across the pebbled shore and up to the well-travelled stage road east, "That ain't one of your better plans."

"Huh?"

"You can't have Clem come identify you," answered Kid. He held up one hand at Heyes protest. "I know she'd want to, but you can't put her at risk like that. Especially not using the Hale name. That ain't an alias! It's her real name."

The partners cantered south, southeast, heading for Texas. Heyes continued to fume for a while in silence, but what galled him most was that he could see Kid was right.

"You're right," finally admitted Heyes. "My plan to get away from Simmons almost got you killed!"

"Nobody got hurt," responded the muscular blond.

"But Kid, don't you see…"

"Heyes," objected Kid, "you think too much!"

"What?"

"In the end, it's not your plans, it's what you do that matters," answered Kid.

-x-x-x-x-x-x-

Later that night, far off the main stage road, Heyes prodded the crackling campfire. Kid sat upon a rock, polishing his Colt. The full moon hung low in the sky behind him.

"You know, I think the real reason we got away today wasn't because of Jasper, but was because Simmons was scared of you," stated Heyes. "Like the man at the mercantile was afraid of Jezebel, just 'cause he thought she was dangerous like a wolf."

"Huh?" asked Kid. "What do you mean? Simmons thinks I'm like a wolf?"

Kid looked towards Heyes. With the moon shining behind him, Kid's face was in the shadows, but Heyes could hear the puzzled tone in his partner's voice. Trying for amnesty had let Jedidiah Curry put the dangerous persona of Kid Curry to one side, and allowed him to be Thaddeus Jones, a soft-spoken, well mannered, gentle man. Thaddeus Jones was the man the boy Jed might have become if there hadn't been raiders, or Valparaiso, or even Hannibal Heyes. But what of himself? Was Joshua Smith any different from Hannibal Heyes, strategist, tactician, planner, and schemer?

"No, not a wolf, dangerous," clarified Heyes, shaking his head, firelight shining on his dark brown hair. "Simmons thinks gunmen are dangerous. He said he wouldn't have even tried to capture Kid Curry."

Kid sighed. He spun the chamber once more, before holstering the shining weapon.

"A man with a gun is always dangerous Heyes. More dangerous than any wolf," responded Kid softly. "And a man with a gun that ain't careful how he uses it, like that merchant, is even more dangerous."

Heyes looked at his partner. Kid was a strategist too, always calculating and planning for their safety.

"I told Simmons that Hannibal Heyes was the dangerous one," confided Heyes, "but he didn't believe me."

"Hannibal Heyes, dangerous? Like a wolf?" objected Kid. "You never hurt anybody! Not even a flea!"

"There are some folks that might disagree," argued Heyes in a soft voice, some folks included himself. "I've hurt bankers, railroad owners…"

"You hurt their wallets, you're dangerous to their money, not to them," interrupted Kid. "I'd rather think Simmons let us go because of saving Jezebel."

"Maybe," agreed Heyes. "Simmons sure loves that dog."

Heyes smiled at his partner. Moonlight shone on his bright white teeth. He didn't continue the list of names. A few other folks, Harry Wagoner, Fred Philpott, and maybe even Danny Bilson, might disagree with Kid. Heyes scratched his leg.

"We're gonna have to do some wash tomorrow. Jezebel left fleas in my clothes," complained Heyes. "I bet I can hurt a flea!"

Drawing his leg up close, Heyes smacked his right calf. Kid threw his head back. His mouth opened wide as he howled with laughter, silhouetted by the moon.

-x-x-x-x-x-x-


End file.
